


Of Vampires and Men

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Kink, M/M, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the teeth, Dorian thinks when he meets The Iron Bull.  It’s those damn teeth, and all those years at the Circle reading utterly terrible propaganda porn.  He’s never going to be able to get those images out of his head.</p><p>The Qunari grins at him, showing off the damn fangs, and Dorian is absolutely <em>not</em> turned on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here We Begin

It’s the teeth, Dorian thinks when he meets The Iron Bull. It’s those damn teeth, and all those years at the Circle reading utterly terrible propaganda porn. He’s never going to be able to get those images out of his head.

The Qunari grins at him, showing off the damn fangs, and Dorian is absolutely _not_ turned on.

oOo

The Chargers don’t have bite marks.

Dorian is not even remotely subtle about his snooping, and the Lieutenant, Cremisius, finally just sits him down in the tavern when the rest of the group is singing and drinking and giving other patrons lecherous looks.

“Look,” Krem says, after he insists on being called Krem. “He doesn’t drink from those who don’t want it. He’s got himself under control. He feeds when he needs to, and when he can’t find someone willing he gets druffalo or some shit. He’s not the monster you think he is.”

“I grew up in Qarinus,” Dorian tells him, and Krem winces.

“Well that explains a few things.”

oOo

When Dorian is ten years old, he sees his first vamped out Qunari, comes into his magic, and kills for the first time.

Qunari raids on Qarinus are not uncommon. They’re practically rote at this point, a wild ride of vengeance if something untoward happens on Seheron. The citizens of Qarinus go armed, most with serious knives that can be used to slice the throat should they be turned. Dorian is with his tutor in the markets when they hear the horn blast that signals an attack, and the world turns into a rush of color and violence.

They run, they run hard and fast towards the Pavus house, with its guarded gatehouses and mages primed to kill, but before them steps a massive Qunari, with curled horns and blood-paint dripped over his chest in swirls of aggression.

Marco’s blades are out in a heartbeat as the Qunari’s fangs descend, his mouth bloody from the body Dorian can see mere steps away.

“Come no closer, _va’na’pyre_ ,” Marco snarls, the Elvhen word unfamiliar to Dorian’s ears. He thinks it may be an insult.

“Adda,” Dorian whispers, clinging to Marco’s shirt. “Adda, what’s wrong with him?”

“Stay back, _da’len_ ,” Marco says, his voice tight, and Dorian stumbles back as the Qunari lunges, and Marco moves to meet him. The long blades, razor sharp, slice and stab where they can, but the Qunari is quick, dangerously so, and teeth descend towards Marco’s neck as the blades are wrenched from his hands.

And then-

_lightning._

It pours out of his hands, racing along the street to stab viciously into the Qunari, making him screech with agony and fear, roasting him alive until he falls, head cracking hard on the cobblestones.

Dorian’s breath hitches as he bursts into tears of terror and shock, and Marco grabs his knives before grabbing Dorian’s hands to make him run.

oOo

“Never understood why they call us vampire, in Common,” The Iron Bull says lazily as Dorian sprawls on the bank of Lake Luthias, fresh from a bath and enjoying the sunshine.

“It’s from the Elvhen,” Dorian says drowsily, and he wouldn’t be nearly so calm but he’s been practicing staffless casting. If necessary, he can kill with a touch. “Va’na’pyre. It was corrupted over the years.”

“Really? Huh.” The Iron Bull stretches, and Dorian is only so good of a man as he surveys the expanse of flesh, the smooth lines of thigh and calf. The Iron Bull is sturdy, solid, and frankly bizarrely sensual.

“Is it a vampire thing?” Dorian asks abruptly. “This whole… always sexual thing.”

Bull chuckles, laying back, and Dorian barely holds back a whimper at the look he gets at the length between Bull’s legs. “Oh, you sweet little thing,” he says with a wicked grin that shows off those fangs in all their glory. “You have no idea.”

oOo

It’s inevitable.

“Do it,” Dorian snarls, with Bull balls deep in him and bruises all over his neck. “Fuck, just do it, come on-”

“You sure?” Bull pants into his neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin, drawing tiny lines with the points of the fangs. “Been a bit-”

Dorian’s hand on his horns drags him in tighter, and he rolls his hips down as he demands, “ _Now_.”

Bull bites, teeth sliding in, and Dorian comes so hard everything goes black.

oOo

The look Krem gives him the next morning is best described as “long suffering amusement”.

oOo

He starts wearing a choker.

It’s not subtle. He’s never been good at subtle. But it’s a pretty band of plain black velvet, which is very in style in Val Royeaux, and while he might not be Royan he can pretend. 

Besides, Bull thinks it’s hot.

Dorian’s in the choker and nothing else when Bull comes home from the Storm Coast, looking like hell and his whole body slumped. Dorian looks up from his book, sees him, and knows.

“Come to bed,” he says quietly, and Bull does, too tired to try and kick him out tonight. 

They sit, Bull’s back to the wall, Dorian in his lap as Bull feeds, thick tongue lapping up the blood the oozes from his neck. Dorian strokes over his scars, over the smooth thickness of neck as salt water slides down from Bull’s eye, the Storm Coast lingering on every line of his body.

“They’re safe,” he whispers, and Bull shudders, clutching him tight. “It’s going to be all right. Not now, not yet, but in time.”

“What if I lose myself?” Bull says, his voice heavy against Dorian’s skin, the scent of metal thick in the air.

“Then we’ll stop you,” Dorian says simply. “But it’s been a long time since the Qun came calling, and you haven’t lost it yet.”

oOo

Dorian wakes to sleepy kisses on his neck, teeth pricking at the tender skin, and mumbles something vaguely before reaching up to undo the velvet and let it fall to the bed.

“Hungry?” he mumbles, and Bull’s chuckle is a rumble.

“Always.”

Dorian hums in pleasure as Bull’s hand slides down to cup his cock- half hard already, early morning and Bull’s presence always a pleasure. He lets himself be manhandled into a more comfortable position, tilts his head to the side, and lets Bull slide his teeth into the usual bite marks that never seem quite fully healed while Bull’s hand lazily strokes him to completion. He likes mornings like this best- wrapped in the safety that Bull provides, warm and solid within his grasp.

“Bull,” he says sleepily, and Bull kisses his throat as the marks heal as much as they ever do. “Bull, I love you.”

“Funny thing, that,” Bull says, and Dorian smiles as he kisses his temple. “I love you too.”


	2. Pomegranates and Thighs

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Dorian said brightly as Bull dropped his plate in front of him, and the rest of the Chargers all stared at the massive steak on his plates. Krem was at Dorian’s side in a second, elbowing him until he graciously cut a piece off for him.

“Well damn,” Stitches said mildly. “I knew you liked meat but-”

Dorian flicked his eyes up, lightning buzzing on his fork, and Stitches wisely shut up.

“He has to eat more red meats now if he’s going to keep up with me,” Bull boasted slightly, and let out an oof as Dorian’s elbow shot back directly into his stomach. “Hey now.”

Krem chattered something that sounded amused in Tevene, and Dorian responded in kind, dramatically turning up his nose away from Bull. Krem laughed, stealing another piece.

“Oh, come on,” Bull whined, dropping onto the bench as Dorian sniffed in disapproval. “Don’t be like that.”

“Better not forget who controls your meals now, chief,” Krem grinned, passing Dorian one of the strange red fruits he’d begged off one of the merchants. Dorian seized it greedily, popping it to reveal little red lumps nestled within on crumpled white. Krem nodded at Bull, raising an eyebrow, and Dorian paused, looking down at the fruit before turning to offer half to him.

“Take them, and you shall want for nothing,” he said sweetly, and Bull paused, looking between Krem’s wicked grin, Dorian’s overly innocent expression, and the proffered fruit.

“Perhaps a few,” Bull said slowly, and carefully pulled six seeds from the strange white interior, followed by six more. Both Krem and Dorian beamed as he popped them in his mouth, startling at the flavor.

“Fortuitous,” Krem said somberly, and Dorian grinned at the fruit like it had just gifted him something precious.

oOo

“So,” Bull asked as he worked Dorian’s buckles open with his teeth, because it was that sort of night, “what was up with the fruit?”

Dorian laughed, breathless, arching up as Bull’s nails- just barely sharp, just sharp enough to wreak havoc against his skin in the best way- dug under his pants and started pulling down. “It’s an old tale told to Tevene children. Once there was a mighty Archon who wanted only for love. He met a young woman, who he promptly stole away, and before her master could come claim her, they made a deal- for each seed she ate of the pomegranate he offered her, she would remain at his side, and the rest of the time she would return to her master to learn. She was clever, and knew she could learn much from the Archon as well, so she took six. Half the year with him, half away.”

Bull sat back, startled, and Dorian grinned down at him. 

“That’s not where the story ends, amatus,” he said fondly. “They fall in love, and she eats another six so that they’re always together.”

“So when I took twelve…”

Dorian’s smile went wide, and Bull groaned, flicking the pants away and pressing kisses over his skin.

“You,” he growled, his voice warm, “are an incurable sap. You and Krem.”

“Absolutely,” Dorian said, utterly content, and yelped when Bull threw his legs over his horns so he could sink his teeth into his thigh.


	3. Scent

The world is awash in scents, curling like strips of color in the air. Bull’s nose- broken as it is, from years of service- is still perfectly strong when it comes to scenting, and Skyhold is a whole tapestry of smells.

Regular human sweat _does_ smell like rotting pork. _Long pig_ , the older ones had referred to them. Just as tasty, doubly squirmy. His Dam, the Tama who raised him, had heard this and lifted one elegant, pissed off eyebrow at the term.

“Not pig,” she said tartly, resting a clawed hand on his shoulder. He had been twelve when turned, just about the same height as her, gangly. “Never think of them as pigs. Pigs may be clever, yes, but human is another beast. A thinking beast, a witty beast, the kind of beast that makes weapons. Never forget that.”

And he never did.

Being surrounded by human is a bit frustrating.

They smell so sweet most of the time. Pregnancy turns them near sugary to his nose, and he avoids the gravid carefully. There is a reason the Tama’s keep those being bred separate from the Antaam- the hunger for that sweetness is dangerous. The fighters smell almost akin to rot, acrid-sweet. Cullen, with all his stress and fear, he smells almost sugary as well as his body struggles to compensate and self soothe. 

(He does tell Dorian, almost six months into their- whatever it is, that he’s fed on Cullen. That Cullen needed that peace, to know that Bull could be trusted, that if he wanted Bull could drain him dry but wouldn’t. Dorian merely asks if Cullen will be joining them for dinner the next time they see him, and Cullen goes crimson.)

The mages smell like their disciplines. Lightning, earthy, woodsmoke, the faint scent of water on cloth, and the unending, uncomfortable not-smell that is the fade. It wraps around Adaar’s hand, too, where the mark sits, and it makes him queasy.

Dorian doesn’t smell like any of them.

His scent is low, musky, hyper-masculine. There is no stench of grave dirt on him, merely the scent of clean skin, with the faintest undertones of copper and iron, heaviest around his neck where the velvet band wraps, hiding his marks from where Bull feeds. The scent is often layered, alternating between delicate florals to heavy, heady colognes that simply amp up his natural scent.

Morning brings him Dorian in bed, and the faint, familiar hunger in his belly.

“Dorian,” he mumbles, and Dorian growls, half asleep.

It’s easy to rearrange them so that he’s pinning Dorian down, and Dorian squirms faintly against the sheets before deciding he’s comfortable. The band comes off, revealing the bite marks, and Bull smiles, bending to kiss them sweetly. Dorian shivers, hips shifting ever so slightly, and Bull buries his nose against Dorian’s hair.

He likes him best this way, sleepy in bed and without any masks on. He smells delicious, the copper scent up and the familiar, warm scent of human male still healthy rather dominant fills his nose. For all that Dorian submits to him so sweetly, he is strong and hard to break, and he’s got the kind of powerful self possession that leads to smelling like- well, like alpha male.

He appreciates this in a man.

“I love your scent,” he growls, and Dorian shifts a little, still half asleep.

“What happened t’roast pig?” Dorian mumbles, and he chuckles.

“Well,” he says, drawing the word out as he scrapes his fangs over Dorian’s neck to make him shiver. “I lied.”

Dorian laughs, and Bull bites, and the morning softens as Skyhold creeps to life.


	4. Thedosian Vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short run down on the vague history of Vampires within the Inquisition era and ever so slightly before, by Karaas va’Nehraason of the Valo Kas

THE QUNARI-

The main body of Thedas’ vampire population belongs to the Qunari. They are the only ones who actively take the time to encourage the disease among their ranks. Notably, the Antaam are all vampire, and the majority of the spies. Viddasala are not, for they must retain their minds, and be unclouded by the desire for blood. Saarebas are saved from the procedure simply because the thought of possessed vampires is enough to send even the mighty Arishok into a cold sweat. The majority of those within Par Vollen are not, as well, for craftsmen and women have little need for it. Many, though not all Tamassran’s are- Hissrad’s Dam was also his Tamassran, a somewhat unusual arrangement as it strengthens the bond between the two quite tightly. 

On Seheron, the disease runs rampant. There are a variety of ways to deal with it. The Fog Warriors undergo rituals while they still retain their mind, and if they have not yet fed on blood, are given a quick, clean death before being burned. If they have fed, they are set upon and quickly murdered, their bones snapped, and then burned. The ashes are carefully gathered, boxed, coated in a film of iron, and tossed into the ocean or buried extremely deep underground. The Tevinter fighters are much less superstitious. Instead, they burn the body with magefire until not even ash remains.

During the time that Hissrad, later to be called The Iron Bull, had control over the island and was tasked with brokering peace, he relentlessly hunted the Tal Vashoth that were spreading the disease. This gained him the grudging respect, if not trust, from all sides. Under his “rule”, the spread slowed to a near halt, and the island enjoyed its safest years in recent memory with regards to vampire deaths.

This, however, did not last after Hissrad left the island.

TEVINTER-

Raiding parties from Seheron routinely descend on Qarinus, where Dorian Pavus grew up. After all, there are only so many you can feed from, and given Tevinter’s tendency to purchase massive amounts of slaves, the pickings are easy. The majority of “feeders” stolen from Qarinus are elves, as they are the most easy for the Qunari to handle, and less likely to be mages.

While not outright blood magic, more a blood disease, vamprism is still not popular in Tevinter. There are some of the Alti and Magesterial classes that are infected, certainly, but they do not live long. Couple a desire for human blood to Tranquility, inform the Tranquil that they cannot hurt humans, and then deny the Tranquil a willing food source, and you have a very effective way to “humanely” starve someone to death.

Tevinter has devoted the most time and resources to fighting the Vampires that attack their lands. While the majority of religious icons do not work to repel them, the Chant of Light being incredibly ineffective against a seven foot person with horns longer than a human arm, the Litany of Adralla has some small degree of usefulness. While it will not strike them down, it has a slowing effect, though it doesn’t last long. Tevene staffs often come with extremely sharp points on the ends, the wood fire hardened and then carved to razor sharp points. Wood directly to the heart seems to be the most effective way to kill a Vampire, though lopping its head of certainly works wonders as well. The majority of children within Tevinter are taught from a very young age how to handle very, very sharp knives long enough to slice through a neck, and practice on wood blocks until they can slice through with a single cut.

It should also be noted that around the Circles, propaganda of a sexual nature is often circulated to show how bestial the Qunari are.

_From the writings of Livius Antiserus_ -

> “The Vampire threat is among the greatest of those we have faced. The Qunari offend, their god a mere idol philosopher whose words happened to echo in the hollow heads of savage beasts until it stuck and offered them godhood. To couple that with the greatest bloodlust the world has ever seen outside of the darkspawn is a grave misfortune. Truly the Maker turns from us, truly we must plead to Andraste to know what we have done to deserve such torment.”

ORLAIS-

In true Orelsian fashion, the highest grossing novel of the Blessed Age was “Love in the Time of Vampires”, which sums up Orlesian thoughts on Vamprisim quite well.

The Orlesian’s seem to think of vampires as some lost, broken things, desperate for a loving touch. In fact, if you touched a member of the Beresaad with love in your heart, they may in fact find you a tasty meal, as they are more than sated with friendship and regular sex.

Orelsian’s romantic notions about Vampires have lead to more than a few deaths, though those in charge of foreign policy have retained their heads and not gone lusting after those that could kill them in a heartbeat. Unlike Tevinter, they have little to ward off attacks save long spears, and the chevalier’s rarely practice in the art of Vampire killing.

(It is also worth noting that Orlesian’s believe all qunari must be vampires, and those those of Tal Vashoth and Vashoth standing are often invited into bed with this in mind.)

THE FREE MARCHES-

After the invasion of the Arishok, Kirkwall became a den of vamprism. Where before Lowtown had been a mess, now it was a mess with vampires of all races stalking the streets, half out of their minds with hunger for blood. The Champion did their best to keep everything under control, and there were rumors that the Anders was working on a blood substitute, though those plans never came to fruition given the Chantry explosion. 

Hahren Merrill of the Alienage became legendary after an attack left ten of the Elves turned, and she single-handedly took them down to keep her people safe. More information on this attack can be found in The Tale of The Companions, recently released by Varric Tethras.

The rest of The Free Marches have always been wary of vampires, but those within the cities who stick to feeding from trusted friends are often ignored. The notable exception to this is Tantervale, whose policy is essentially “kill on sight”.

NEVARRA-

Home to the Mortalitasi, the Nevarran’s regard Vamprism to be the highest disrespect to the dead. After all, what is dead should stay dead until a Mortalitasi can drag a spirit into it so it can shamble about. Vampires, with their incredible difficulty to kill, are an affront unto the Maker in their eyes.

The Pentaghast family, renowned for their skill at hunting dragons, also hunt vampires when the pickings are slim. Many notable Pentaghast’s made a name for themselves during the Exalted Marches against the Qunari, felling many as they went like a scythe through the chaff. There is a healthy fear of the Pentaghast’s throughout Nevarra, as well as reverence. With their sister country of Rivain facing occupation by the Qunari, they look to the Pentaghast’s in case they too face a crisis.

Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker and Right Hand of the Divine, is a well known vampire hunter in her own right, though she claims it was mostly in her youth.

FERELDEN-

Ferelden is home to a startlingly large number of vampires. WIth the Fereldan people practicing a concept that can best be summed up with “I didn’t ask you, and therefore I’m not interested”, many vampires live peacefully out in the wilderness, hunting game and living with families. As most vampires are sterile, it is usually a mated pair that live together without children. These pairs are typically human, though some cast out Dalish pair off and live together as well. Vampires are well respected in the Hinterlands for their work during the Blight.

_Regarding vampires during the Blight, from the writings of Liara, daughter of Shoni of Redcliffe Village_ -

> “They came down from the mountains when the dead rose from the Lake, ten of them. They were all thin, I recall, thin and angry. One of them was called Gawain, and we spoke in the Chantry while some of his brothers and sisters in the blood prayed for guidance and peace in their hearts. He was Vampire, turned by an apostate gone bad. The Blight had woken something furious in him, a piece of rage that he didn’t know he held. He told me he thought maybe the Maker had meant for him to be like this- to fight the blood with blood.
> 
> There is nothing the Vampire hate more than the Darkspawn, and those of the corrupted bodies. When the dead came from the Lake, and the Hero and her people went on the attack, he and the others hit like hammers. The corruption of the flesh is the greatest taboo to them, and they decimated the forces.
> 
> Gawain fell in the attack, head chopped off by one of the corpses, but it was a death with honor. From what I heard, the others swore allegiance to the Hero, and traveled to Denerim for the battle. Among the Hero’s company was a Qunari called Sten, also a vampire, and those of the hills remember him with awe.”

THE DALISH

Little is known about the Dalish vampires. What we do know is this: The Dalish have vampires, and they are a force to be reckoned with.

It is assumed that the Dalish have at least two vampires per clan, sometimes more. They act as hunters and guards, mostly at night, and are incredibly graceful, deadly hunters. Given the near immortal state of vampires, and how the Elves age much slower, it is unknown as to how long they tend to live. Some have postulated that the majority of the ancient elves were actually vampires, which would account for their huge lifespans, but there is little evidence to prove this. 

Solas of the Inquisition, whose specialty lies in Dreaming, is particularly adamant that this cannot be the case, and has not seen any indication that it ever was such at thing.

Those Dalish who have joined the Inquisition have been incredibly shifty when asked about vampires. No further knowledge has revealed itself.


	5. In Which Bull takes down some Bad Guys and Dorian is Amused

Val Royeaux doesn’t have vampires in the same way that Empress Celene doesn’t have an elven lover.

It’s the kind of evening that makes Bull feel like he should be prowling through the jungle hunting his food, which is why Dorian is walking with him as they wander Val Royeaux. He has a plan to find a nice deserted alleyway and feed for the night, and if how twitchy Dorian is means anything, he’s not the only one.

A hand on Dorian’s back steers him easily into another side street, and Dorian darts away into the darkness. Bull gives chase, light on his feet as they vanish together into the darkness. 

There’s graffiti on the wall, a reminder that they weren’t the first to use this little hideaway, and when Dorian loops his arms over Bull’s neck Bull picks him up and presses him firmly against the wall.

“I like your arms,” Dorian mumbles against his lips. “Good arms, these.”

Bull just laughs, nuzzling at the spot on his throat where the blood smells thickest. It hangs around him all the time now, like the sweetest perfume. There is another vampire at Skyhold, one of the quieter Dalish that came to fight. She has her own “mate”, in her terms, a willowy woman that smells just as delicious. Bull wonders if one day he’ll have to give this up, because oh, how he never wants to let this go.

The black velvet slips off of Dorian’s neck with a whisper, and he holds it tight as he lowers his head, lapping over the wounds.

The faintest rustle and Dorian stiffens, a wordless snarl growling out, and Bull jerks just in time to avoid a mace.

Dorian’s hands blaze with lightning, and Bull easily drops him to grab the throwing axe at his belt.

The three of them are human- one chevalier, two guard types, all vamped out and clearly hungry.

“Oh, we’re doing this?” Dorian sighs, but Bull can feel the rage roiling in himself.

“Let me,” he growls, and moves.

_mine._

It’s a short, quick fight, and he feeds over the groaning bodies, triumphant, while Dorian rolls his eyes and tenderly runs his fingers over Bull’s skin


	6. In Which Dorian Forgets that he's Eating For Two

The library was quiet when Bull arrived, fresh from a trip to the bath house and no longer feeling like so much pummeled meat. Solas was doing some delicate work on his murals, and gave him a rare smile as he walked in.

“He’s upstairs?” Bull said with a wry grin.

“It seems as if he’s been there all week,” Solas said, setting his brushes down. “Between he and Grand Enchanter Fiona, it is difficult to say who has been throwing more books and yelling louder.”

Bull chuckled. “Good to know. I’ll mind my head. See you tomorrow, Solas.”

“Good evening to you, Iron Bull.” Solas went back to his work, and Bull carefully made his way up the stairs, making sure not to scrape his horns as he did.

Dorian was napping in his chair, a fuzzy blanket draped over his lap and his books carefully closed off to the side. Helisma was sitting at his table, examining something that was far too nasty for words, but she turned when she heard him approach, rising. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Serah Pavus needs his rest,” she said in her flat voice. “He works very diligently. It would slow our work down if he were too worn out by sexual exertion to do research.”

Bull, for all he disliked the flat voiced Tranquil, couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, none of that tonight, I promise. Just going to get him back to bed. Did you bring him the blanket?”

She nodded “Serah Pavus is often cold in body,” she said, looking over at him. “But he is kind in heart. That kindness should be returned in some way.”

Touched, Bull thanked her and carefully scooped Dorian up in his arms. Dorian mumbled in his sleep, nuzzling into Bull’s chest before sighing and drifting off deeper into sleep.

It was mid evening, and no one tried to bother him as he quietly took Dorian to their room. A few of the soldiers smiled at him, but no one made any jokes, and Bull’s sharp toothed smile warned off any that might have been made. The guards quietly opened his door for him, and Dorian mumbled softly as Bull got him into bed before locking up for the evening.

By the time he was done, Dorian was sleepily starting to shift. Bull smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed as Dorian reluctantly opened his eyes.

“Hey, sweet thing,” Bull teased, and Dorian responded with a jaw cracking yawn.

“Time’s it?” he slurred, reaching out from under the blankets to take Bull’s hand.

“Evening. Apparently you fell asleep in the library.”

“Mmm. Not a surprise.” Dorian reached out, and Bull dragged him up into his lap to nuzzle at the band on his neck. Dorian chuckled, and Bull reached up to gently pull the strip of velvet off.

Bull took his time pressing soft kisses over the healed up marks, making Dorian sigh happily.

“Hungry?” Dorian murmured at last, and Bull groaned softly against his neck. “Go ahead, amatus.”

Bull sank his teeth in with some relief, and Dorian wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck to hold him there. He could go quite a long time without feeding, but it was safer for him to feed every other day. 

He’d just got into the swing of things when Dorian said, his voice a little weak, “Oh. Oh dear–” and promptly passed out.

oOo

Dorian swam back into consciousness to see Stitches dryly unimpressed face hovering over him.

“Um,” he managed, and Stitches snorted.

“Welcome back,” he said dryly. “And in one piece. You idiot.”

“Um?” Dorian managed. He was sure Stitches was right, but he still felt dizzy.

“Soup,” Stitches said briskly. “Breads. Meats. Food, you idiot. You have to eat if you’re eating for two.”

Dorian’s cheeks flamed red, and Bull swam into view.

“Hey big guy,” Bull said, a huge hand reaching down to cup Dorian’s face He was trying not to show his concern, but Dorian could read him like an open book. “You okay in there?”

“Ugh,” Dorian managed, and took the soup Stitches offered.


	7. In Which Dorian Gets Kidnapped

The Storm Coast was a gloomy, miserable place.  Dorian had always hated it, from the sound of the pounding waves and unbearable salt spray to the unending screeching of the birds above.  And now he had even more reason to hate the place.

They were in a little cave high above the old pillar stones of the dwarves, and Dorian was slowly, slowly bleeding out.

For once, the vampires weren’t Qunari. These ones were human, quite starved thanks to the Blades of Hessarian actually living up to their name as  _blades_ , and definitely on the more feral side.  There were three of them, all men, and they slept in a pile on and around Dorian in the little cave. Much as he hated having arms wrapped around him that weren’t Bull’s, Dorian was willing to deal with it if only to keep the cold away.

They were constantly bleeding him, and he was growing weaker by the hour.  Thankfully they kept bringing him meat, and even cooked it, but bear was only so tasty for so long.  Dorian often woke up with a mouth to his neck, quietly lapping away, and wished miserably for a bit of a respite. 

The three were Marchers, two rogues and one former Templar, far from home and none to likely to give up the only meal they’d had in a long time. That they had managed to steal him while he was out doing his business was just embarrassing.  They had been watching the Inquisition forces for weeks, and spotted Dorian feeding Bull one afternoon.  The rest had spiraled from there.

Dorian was dozing again in an attempt to conserve energy when the former Templar started nosing at his neck.  He sighed, muttering frustrated curses under his breath, but his hands were tied and he was too weak to do anything.

The Templar let out a soft crooning sound as he bit, and Dorian winced. Apparently mage blood slaked both lyrium cravings and blood cravings. Yay for him. He was more exhausted than normal, and was beginning to recognize the symptoms of serious blood loss.

There was a soft crumble of rock, and the world was suddenly on fire.  

Dorian watched sleepily as his ears started wringing from the noise. The Templar and the other two had lunged for the shapes that were coming through the fiery opening, and he looked on with some interest. He was simply so tired, though, and sleep was calling him down into the soft, comfortable depths. It was very tempting, but it was also tempting to watch Bull rip someone's throat out. Sera was wreathed in fire and aggressively shooting everything in her path, and the Inquisitor was a wild child of violence and mayhem.

Dorian was very, very tired.

He smiled as the last body was tossed aside and Bull's great knees dropped down by his head, one huge hand gently stroking his hair. He smiled up at Bull, seeing that his mouth was moving but he couldn't hear the words, and managed to lift his hand to gently pat his leg before letting sleep take him.

His friends were here. Nothing would hurt him.

Ooo

He woke up feeling like he was actually a shriveled up husk and immediately wanted to go back to the blissful unaware state of sleep. 

It was apparently daylight, as he could see around the tent he was in, and it wasn't bitterly, biting cold. The damp suggested they were still on the Storm Coast however, which was less than thrilling. He couldn't even manage a groan, he was so dehydrated, but before he could try and zap the tent to get someone's attention Bull ducked inside with a bowl full of...ice?

“Awake at last, _kadan_ ,” he said fondly, and Dorian managed the tiniest squeak of annoyance. Bull grinned at him, sitting on a stool and plucking out a small piece of ice to press to his lips. “Take it easy, big guy, you've been through a lot the past little bit.”

Dorian scowled at him and industriously sucked on the sweet, wonderful ice. He didn't even care about the cold on his tongue. All he wanted was a bit of water, and the ice was more than providing. As soon as the first piece was gone Bull gave him another, and they sat in content silence until Dorian felt more like a person and could actually clear his throat.

“How long?” He rasped the words out.

“A week. Long enough for me to lose my mind a bit, but it all turned out in the end.” Bull gently ran his fingers through Dorian's hair, and Dorian smiled softly at him. “You held out right to the end.”

“It wouldn't have been long, it seems.”

“Nope.” Bull's hand tightened for a second before relaxing. “Gave us all a scare.”

“What would you do with without me,” Dorian mumbled, smiling again, and Bull kissed his forehead as he drifted back down into sleep.


	8. In which we have a Modern AU, for some ungodly reason

The bar is fifteen kinds of filthy and loud, and there's the worlds prettiest 'Vint leaning on the counter. He's been pulling smoke from his mouth to make the bartender laugh, and Hissrad is hungry in ways he hasn't known since after his turning. The 'Vint has his neck on display, his smile is wicked, and he keeps flicking his eyes up to the mirror to give Hissrad sultry little looks.

This is all kinds of a bad idea, and he doesn't even care.

He's being reckless, and stupid, and stands to make his way over to the bar, leaning against the smooth wood next to the 'Vint, who looks up through long lashes.

“Enjoying the show?” The 'Vint has a voice like velvet gravel, made seductive by the fire he's been conjuring in his throat. Fancy little 'Vints and their fancy little magics. Hissrad should be unnerved.

He finds he's a little turned on.

“Hell yeah,” he says with a wicked grin, and the 'Vint's smile gets bigger.

oOo

They stumble out into the alleyway behind the bar, and the 'Vint breathes, “Dorian, my name is Dorian,” against his mouth before Hissrad picks him up and pins him hard against the wall. Dorian, apparently, tips his head back and gasps out a string of delighted curses as Hissrad noses at his neck.

He's heady with the scent of smoke curling around them, the thump of blood in his neck so close, the heavy cologne Dorian's wearing making everything even the faint smells of _city_ fade away under the sheer amount of _male_ that has him sucking bruises over all that pretty brown skin. Dorian keeps rolling his hips against Hissrad's stomach for even just a hint of relief, arms draped over his neck, one hand on the back of his head to try and keep him there.

“Hungry?” he breathes, and Hissrad jerks. Dorian laughs, breathless. “Thought so. Go ahead.”

“Are you-” Hissrad pulls back to look at him, sees the already fucked out look on his face, the wildness in his eyes.

“Fucking _bite me_ ,” Dorian growls, and blows smoke in his face. 

And well, how could he say no to that?

His teeth sink in, vicious as can be, and Dorian's hips jerk against his body as Hissrad holds him tight to the wall. Dorian squirms like a needy little thing, and he pins him harder, holds him steady. With the copper sweetness of blood in his mouth he pulls back to purr raggedly into Dorian's ear, “Hold still, pet.” 

That gets him the sweetest whimper, and Hissrad chuckles as he dips his head again.

They fuck, he drinks, they leave.

Four months later, when he finds Dorian holding a stake over his freshly dead kin, shit gets downright interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I need Andraste. 
> 
> I am such a damn sucker for these AU's.


End file.
